


Disease To Please

by SimoneClouseau



Series: Deeper than Deep [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Patrick, Depression, Fingering, First Time, M/M, Pining, Shaving Kink, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 22:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5472995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimoneClouseau/pseuds/SimoneClouseau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He’s not immune to the fact that they’re weird, too affectionate, too far in each other’s spaces. Normal guys don’t act like they do. </i>
</p><p>Patrick and Jonny fell in love a long time ago. It took them a while to realize it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disease To Please

**Author's Note:**

> I know that they initially flew off to LA in the morning on Thanksgiving, as opposed to the evening. For the sake of story I decided to say 'fuck it.' 
> 
> FuckboyDraco gave me the prompt for this, and whoops, here I am posting it nearly at Christmas. Thanks to everybody who held me by the hand with this fic.

Patrick hadn’t spent a lot of his holidays with his family in the last ten years. They spent fourth of July together yearly and that was cool. Everything else was eaten up by hockey. The last Memorial Day he actually got to hang with them had sucked a bag of dicks, partially because he was in the dog house for Cinco De Mayo, but mostly because it meant the team was out in the first round. So when a reporter asked him if the reason he was feeling a little off—despite the win, the streak, getting first star—was because he missed his family during the holiday, Patrick was quick to shrug it off. Yes, he would like something better than a Skype call to his giant-ass Irish Catholic family who were all together driving each other mad on Thanksgiving without him, but that situation was par for the course. He didn’t even really know what to say in response, but it certainly wasn't because he was fucking homesick or whatever. Patrick wasn't even sure he could put into words what was wrong. He felt, as the reporter said, pretty much ‘a little off.’ 

“Just tired,” he offered, swiping his fingertips across his sweaty face. “Get a bit of a break tomorrow, though,” he said and summoned up a smile. They weren't flying out of SJ until tomorrow night. 

The beats laughed obligingly and shuffled off to bother Desi about his goal. Patrick took a moment to draw in a deep breath, holding it in his chest before letting it out. 

The problem with feeling ‘a little off’ was that there was no easy fix, no cure at all, at least as far as he could see. He just had to keep going and get through it.

■

He slept later into the morning than he normally would the next day. Usually he got up before Jonny, pounding on the door between their rooms, telling him to get his fat ass out of bed. Today though, Jonny was the one who barged in at 10 am to roust him from under the covers.

Jonny whacked him hard with a pillow, startling Patrick awake. 

“Wha?” he said fuzzily, blinking up at Jonny. This was his own damn fault. Patrick had left the door between their rooms unlocked, almost like he'd wanted something like this to happen.

Jonny held out a coffee in a cute cup, before he thought better of it and set it on the dresser. “I had to brave San Pedro Square the day after we beat their asses for that, so you better enjoy it.” 

Patrick groaned and stretched, rubbing at his eyes. “They recognize you?” 

Jonny was wearing a soft-looking sweater and jeans, a baseball cap backwards on his head. His standard uniform, but nothing that screamed Captain of the Blackhawks. 

“Nah, I was standing around a hundred ‘This is Sharks’ Territory’ signs too. I thought—you know, so close to the stadium, it’d probably happen, but if they recognized me, they didn’t say.” 

Patrick snorted, ran his eyes obviously up and down Jonny's frame. “Maybe Bur’s right and they’re only into Google nerds out here.” 

Jonny shrugged and cleared his throat. “Listen,” he said, going over to the window and throwing Patrick’s curtains open to let it in the mid-morning sun. “There’s team dinner tonight, but we’ve got more than a few hours to kill ‘til then. You want to come with me to the beach?” 

“The beach?” Patrick asked uncertainly, finally taking his first sip of the dark roast with two sugars (just the way he took it) Jonny obligingly got him. It was good stuff, or at least better than Starbucks. Patrick couldn't claim to be any kind of expert on coffee. “It’s colder outside right now than it is in Chicago.” 

“I’m not suggesting we go frolic in the water,” Jonny said, turning so that he was in profile as he looked down at the street below. His eyelashes were lit up by the light streaming in the windows, Patrick noticed absently. When Jonny looked back over, Patrick quickly dropped his gaze. 

Jonny said, “C’mon, ya big baby, I need company.” 

“Ah, there it is,” Patrick replied dryly. “How many people you ask before me?” 

“21,” Jonny deadpanned, but then he winked, the same gesture he used on girls in bars. “You were my first stop, princess.” 

Patrick groaned again, finally rolling out from under the warmth of the covers. “Alright, alright.”

■

Jonathan Toews didn’t do shit by halves. So of course he’d found some rental place for a car and looked into where the best beaches could be found.

“I was thinking Santa Cruz maybe, because Tiks said it’s close, but Smitty was telling me the beaches were more awe-inspiring up in Half Moon Bay,” he told Patrick, fiddling with the GPS on his phone in the Hertz parking lot. 

Patrick cracked up. “More ‘awe-inspiring?’ Did he actually use those words?” 

Jonny looked over at him, brows raised. 

“God, he did, didn’t he? Ah, Smitty, never change,” Patrick announced to the car. 

Even though it took longer and despite Patrick's protests, Jonny chose Route 1 along the coast, getting on a dinky highway through dense redwood forest to get there. Patrick was mostly used to his driving by now, but the crazy windy road gave him flashbacks to their first year in Chicago where Patrick felt there was a good chance Jonny was driving on a revoked license. 

“When we stop for gas, I am taking the wheel,” Patrick said, thumping his head back against the headrest. 

“Mmm, too bad she’s all full up,” Jonny said, lovingly patting the dash of the Nissan, like his breakneck speeds and loose steering were some practical joke he’d been playing on Patrick for years. 

They mostly drove in silence, Patrick eyeing the view, and Jonny letting Patrick take care of the music. He felt mellow today, so he opted for The Beatles over Fetty Wap, more in line with Jonny's preferences anyway, even though he’d been gleefully making Jonny listen to the latter on repeat for the last two weeks. 

It was perfectly clear day, sun shining bright on the ocean as they drove by it. It looked like it should be a lot warmer than the 51 degrees the temperature gauge on the console displayed. He found himself looking forward to the high 60s in Anaheim tomorrow, just for the sheer expectedness of California being warmer than Chicago in late fall. They drove for a long time, passing beaches one by one. Some looked promising, vast stretches of sand surrounded by cliffs, but Jonny didn’t stop. Patrick wondered if he was waiting for the perfect one. 

“Pick one,” he finally said after they passed by another at upwards of 60 mph. 

Jonny looked over at him and smiled. “Just a little bit further,” he said. 

Finally he turned left, driving too fast down an unmarked gravel drive. 

“Jesus christ, is this somebody’s private road?” Patrick demanded. 

“No! It’s on the map,” Jonny said waving a careless hand at his phone in the cupholder between them. 

“Mmhm,” Patrick said. “You would decide that somebody’s private beach is the perfect place to hang.” 

“It’s not a private beach!” Jonny protested. He looked over at Patrick in triumph when the gravel road widened out into a parking lot, complete with a little shed marked ‘Restrooms.’ 

“Yeah, yeah,” Patrick said. 

The wind was high when Jonny pulled over and they climbed out of the car. It was even worse once they mde their way down to the beach, but Patrick barely noticed, because it was beautiful, sea and sand and sky in all directions. The cellphone pictures he snapped quickly didn't do it justice. 

They weren't the only ones who had the same idea for a thanksgiving beach walk, because they were plenty of people wrapped up in scarves walking alongside the tide, their dogs and little kids jogging ahead. 

Jonny was quiet as they trudged along, snapping a few photos of his own. Patrick avoided stepping on a large tangle of kelp that had washed ashore and kept his eyes on the water line as it drifted in. Getting wet feet wouldn't make this day better. They came to an outcropping with a trail leading up into the cliffs and Jonny looked over at him in askance. Patrick shrugged. Sometimes he thought the reason he and Jonny got along so well was their ability to be quiet together, to communicate the things that needed to be said without words. Patrick watched him as he climbed up along the trail, shielding his eyes against the sun, heedless of Patrick’s gaze on him. Patrick swallowed. 

It was a decent hike, enough that he was sweating a little in his sweatshirt, glad for the warmth on his chill fingers and cheeks. They reached the end of the trail, high enough up on the cliff edge that they had a good view of the bay for miles. Jonny sat on the low-hanging branch of a cyprus warped by the wind to look like a verdant hand reaching for the road. Patrick shoved his hands into his pockets and stood at the edge. He felt very small all of a sudden. 

“Happy?” he asked, just loud enough, watching Jonny watch the horizon. 

Jonny cocked his head, stretching his legs out in front of him. “It’s gorgeous.” He shrugged again, like that was all he needed. 

“Are you?” Jonny asked after a long moment passes. “Happy that is?” 

Patrick bit at his lip, that ‘off’ feeling welling up inside of him. 

“No,” he said, looking out over the water. His chest felt tight. “But I’m thankful.” 

“For what?” Jonny asked. 

When Patrick looked back over at him he was picking the bark off the branch with absent fingers. 

Patrick thought of all the things he could say. There were many. He’d been blessed, he wasn't unaware of his many advantages in life. He could pick any one of them, not reveal what he was actually thinking about. It would be so easy to lie. But Patrick already felt a little off, he didn’t see how the truth could hurt him any worse anymore. 

“For you,” he said, and knowing just from his tone that it was an unmistakably heavy thing he’d thrown out there, not some joke that Jonny could avoid with a laugh and a little rough-housing. 

Jonny leaned back on his branch, that same assessing look he wore just before he sets up for a faceoff. “Come here,” he said. 

“Why?” Patrick asked. 

“Come here, Patrick,” Jonny repeated. 

Patrick rolled his eyes and strode over, noticing with some surprise the way the tree branches sheltered them from the worst of the wind, making everything suddenly so quiet. Jonny widened his thighs as he got close like he was planning to take Patrick between them. It made Patrick swallow, stopping the last foot away. The heavy thing he threw out there had grown enormous. 

“Come here,” Jonny said a third time, whispering now, beseeching. When Patrick finally took that last step in between his legs, Jonny didn’t hesitate. He reached up and drew him down into the softest, most worshipful kiss Patrick thought he’d ever had, their lips brushing innocently until he felt the barest hint of Jonny’s tongue against the swell of his lower lip. And then he opened himself up to it, tasting Jonny, thoroughly kissing him deep and strong. Patrick’s breaths came hard—fast, like he played a long shift, or sprinted up this cliff—like he’s having sex right now, not making out against a tree. 

Jonny pulled back, pink lips wet. He searched Patrick’s eyes like he was looking for something in particular. Whatever it was, he must've found it, because he smiled and said, “Me too.” 

And then he had his arms around Patrick’s waist, tugging him in, leaning his cheek against Patrick’s chest. Patrick’s own arms came up around him, hand brushing delicately over the nape of his neck, holding him close. He wasn't immune to the fact that they were weird, too affectionate, too far in each other’s spaces. Normal guys didn't act like they did. But it wasn't weird if you were in love with somebody. It wasn't weird if you thought about having sex with them, and sometimes, when you did, your stomach swooped when you saw them. 

Patrick’s eyes prickled at the corners. There were a lot of things at the tip of his tongue right now that desperately wanted to be said, but it was too early to give Jonny that much power, even if he thought maybe, just maybe Jonny would hand over some of his own. He was content with this, locked around each other in the depths of this tree. 

“Happy thanksgiving,” he said and Jonny squeezed him tight before relaxing his grip. 

“I want you to be happy,” Jonny told him, solemn and concerned. 

Patrick brushed his thumb over Jonny’s lower lip, tracing it. “I’m not worried.”

■

By that night, Patrick had started to wonder if he’d dreamed that moment on the cliff, imagining a deeply longed for possibility into some kind of false reality. Jonny seemed so normal surrounded by the other guys. Patrick felt anything but normal. He felt giddy and unsure, his adrenaline high like he was working up the nerve to ask Jonny on a date. Fucking ridiculous.

Patrick wasn’t good at waiting to see how things would play out, but he also didn’t think forcing action on Jonny’s part would be a good idea. 

But maybe, that moment they'd had had just been some kind of comfort thing. Patrick hadn’t thought so, but he wasn’t exactly the best judge right now. There was what he desperately wanted to be true and then there was everything else. Maybe that relaxed drive back down to the hotel where Patrick had fallen asleep to soft oldies, Jonny humming under his breath, was just the end of it. Patrick knew well that sometimes you thought you’d gotten a yes, when really you’d gotten a maybe. Jesus christ, Patrick was in uncharted territory feeling so strongly about somebody. It had never been allowed to matter before. And with everybody else, it was so much easier to be the party that had less at stake. 

They didn’t sit together on the 45 minute plane ride to LA, nor on the bus. Patrick had done it deliberately, a facade of nonchalance, but as far as he could tell, Jonny hadn’t noticed. Which left Patrick exactly nowhere. And yes, they’d only really been a ‘something’ on a cliff for seven hours. It wasn’t like Patrick had any reason to feel like he was the one always making all the moves, but nevertheless, it was him who asked Jonny up to his room to watch TV after dinner, and he resented the vulnerability of it. Having to put himself forward. He half expected Jonny to say no. Patrick wasn't really sure how to count on the things he wanted. He only knew how to count on himself. 

But Jonny had ducked his head and smiled at him. “Okay,” he said. 

Patrick was sideswiped by how easy that was. He shouldn't have been. He may have only known how to count on himself, but Jonny had been an extension of that self for almost ten years.

■

When Jonny arrived upstairs a few minutes after Patrick got back to his room, he knocked courteously at the door. Usually he would’ve tested the knob between their rooms and then just barged in. Patrick found himself missing that terribly as he opened it up and gestured him inside. He didn’t want what they were to change, he just wanted to be able to touch Jonny, to look at him and not have to come up with a reason why, to not feel like he was sitting on a beach in the middle of a party, texting him too much even though he'd just seen him a few days ago. He hadn't felt like he'd had the right back then, even as he couldn't stop himself, because who was Jonny to him? Just a friend. Just a teammate.

Patrick sat down at the foot of his bed and swallowed. He had the tv already on set to a replay of a football game. Jonny picked up the remote and turned it off while Patrick stared at him. 

He set it down on the bureau and then, catching sight of Patrick’s face, looked unsure. “I mean, I assume I’m not here to actually watch TV.” 

Patrick’s face flamed up. He looked away. “Whatever, man, I just thought—”

Jonny sat down beside him, interrupting him with a kiss, fingertips running through the curls at Patrick’s nape. After a moment he pulled away, leaning their foreheads together. 

“You’re stressing me out,” he said roughly. 

“How?” Patrick asked, hating how plaintive he sounded. 

“I don’t know what you want,” Jonny replied. 

“I—” Patrick stopped, feeling sick and helpless. “I just want to be with you.” 

The truth of the matter was that he’d learned early never to waste his time on anybody who didn’t affirm his feelings, and Patrick wasn’t sure he was ready to hear whatever Jonny was going to say next. The funny thing about never taking the shot was that there was always still the possibility that a shot would still be available, an avenue that hadn’t yet been shut down. An answer was pretty definitive, whichever way it went. He knew Jonny cared about him a lot, that Jonny had kissed him, but Patrick also knew that Jonny now knew how desperately Patrick wanted things from him. Jonny was pretty helpless to deny Patrick even in his own better interest. Patrick had learned that early on. 

Jonny chuckled, but it sounded watery, and when Patrick looked over he was covering his eyes, face turned away from Patrick. 

“Good,” he said after a moment, taking a deep breath. He dragged the back of his hand over his eyes and then looked back at Patrick, sniffing slightly like he was going to cry for real. “Good.” 

Patrick stared at him, unsure what he was seeing. 

“That’s good, Pat,” Jonny said again, a little more firmly. “I thought maybe I just wanted it so bad…” 

“Dude, are you on the rag?” Patrick asked, but he felt warm on the inside again, heart beating too hard inside his chest. It was good to know that what he wanted and what was actually happening could occasionally align. 

Jonny shoved him ungently in the face. “Shut up, asshole.” 

“I can’t believe you started—” Jonny dragged him down to the bed, shutting him up with his mouth. They made out like that for a while, slow and easy on top of the covers, rubbing together in the low light from Patrick’s lamp. It was all easy measured breathing and slow deep kisses, Patrick settling underneath Jonny’s reassuring weight. It wasn’t insistent or intense—the best word for it was comfortable. He felt like they could keep going just like this for a while without having to move. 

Patrick felt Jonny’s dick hard against his thigh and just when he was debating getting up the nerve to get his hand on it, Jonny rolled off of him with a sigh. 

“We should sleep,” he said, hands folded over his belly, lips puffy and cheeks flushed. 

Patrick thought about pushing it, but it had been a long day, and his own arousal was an easily ignored low-grade burn. It could wait. 

“Stay?” he said instead, gratified when Jonny turned onto his side, dark eyes soft and warm. 

“Okay,” he said. 

When he woke the next morning, he’d slept deeply, but he was uncomfortable, unused to another person in his bed, too warm in the night, a crick in his neck from adjusting weirdly on the pillow. It wasn’t how he’d hope to feel in the morning upon waking up, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it either. 

Jonny groaned, waking up beside him ungracefully. “Whatimez it?” he muttered blearily. 

Patrick looked at his phone on the nightstand, yawning. “Only 6 am.” 

“God, why?” Jonny said, digging his face deeper into his pillow. 

“Sharing a bed wasn’t comfortable,” Patrick said, almost like an announcement. He was more disappointed than was strictly reasonable. 

“We’ll get used to it,” Jonny replied, and then yanked the covers back up over his head. Patrick stared at him, welling up with a fondness so great he was really glad Jonny couldn’t see his face right now. Patrick had cried a lot more in front of Jonny than vice versa over the years—he couldn’t help it. But Jonny had only done it twice, once on one of the bad days during his concussion in 2012, and his teary outburst last night. Patrick wanted to have this moment. So he got out of bed and padded off to the shower before Jonny could wake up more thoroughly and see how Patrick looked and make fun of him.

■

“We’ll get used to it”—that seemed to be Jonny’s game plan. He stuck to kissing until Patrick was so frustrated he found himself actually demanding Jonny put his hand on his cock. It did the trick, because Jonny groaned into his mouth and happily peeled Patrick’s sweats down to wrap his fist around his thickened cock.

They jerked each other off in bed, awkwardly lying on their sides because Patrick refused to stop kissing him. It was odd, because Patrick had some idea over the years how Jonny liked to jerk it, sharing a room and all that, but it was different to feel it on his own dick. Jonny’s loose-fingered glancing pressure, squeezing tighter on every upstroke, shocking Patrick every time his curled fingers came up over the head of his dick, sliding wet through precome. 

Jonny’s own cock was velvety soft in his hand, only the slightest fuzz of pubic hair at the base that Patrick couldn’t stop playing with, fascinated. 

“Do you…?” Patrick gasped nearly incoherent into his mouth. “Like a chick?” 

Jonny apparently got it. 

“Yes,” he breathed, squeezing his eyes shut tight as Patrick started to really pull him off. Patrick had to take a moment to imagine that. Jonny grooming, making himself look perfect, just for moments like this. 

“Slut,” he said back, and Jonny moaned, shoving his dick hard into the circle of Patrick’s fingertips. Patrick felt it all the way up his arm, all the power leashed in that body. 

Jonny’s own hand was working a dangerous magic, getting him close to the edge far too quickly. There was something about knowing that this was how he touched himself, the way he made himself feel good, that made it hot. Patrick wanted to be able to last through it, but he couldn’t. 

And then because it seemed like a good idea, still pulsing out his orgasm, he said, “I want you to fuck me.” 

Jonny choked, barely holding on for two more strokes after that. 

Afterwards, lying in their own mess, Jonny asked, “Really?” 

Patrick shrugged. He said, “We can’t just do handjobs forever.” 

Jonny raised a brow. “Some people do.” 

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Some people do a lot of things. I want to try this. Do you not want to?” 

Jonny rolled over on top of him, heedless of the spunk smearing them up. He nipped at Patrick’s lower lip. 

“Do I not want to what? Be balls deep in you? Fuck you until you’re begging? Make you come on my cock?” he asked, punctuating each statement with another nip. “Of course I want to.” 

Patrick squirmed underneath him, uncomfortably turned on. “I didn’t say anything about begging.” 

“Mmmhm,” Jonny replied and reached down between them, trailing his fingers through the jizz on Patrick’s belly, before bringing them to his mouth, delicately licking the come off. 

Well, Patrick didn’t have anything to say about that either.

■

He liked the way it was quiet between them, getting used to each other into this new context. But once Patrick threw it out there, the tension between them doubled. And then the team went into a downward slump to rival the horrible nine game skid in the ‘11/’12 season. But Patrick was still scoring, still setting up assists, his ability to get things on net undampened. Jonny was handling it okay, way better than he did three years ago anyway, playing concussed, just trying to get them through it. He was keeping cheerful in the locker room and doing his whole meditation bit. It wasn’t so easy for Patrick though, not once the articles started going up—the ones saying how great it was that Patrick was managing to keep his streak alive, but couldn’t find it in himself to make meaningful contributions to his team.

“It’s all bullshit, Kaner,” Jonny said trying to make him feel better. He was lying in Patrick’s bed with his arm thrown over his eyes. It was here that Patrick noticed how tired he was. The lines suddenly visible around his mouth and eyes. He didn’t have it in him to offer comfort here as well as in the locker room, and that just made Patrick feel worse. They’d stopped fucking around. Patrick was still turned on, was practically thrumming with it, but he was also miserable, and didn’t feel like doing more than jerking it angrily in the shower. If Jonny wanted anything he didn’t push. When Patrick curled into him in bed afterwards though, Jonny wrapped himself around him, pulling him in close. 

“Alright?” he asked. 

The answer was no, so Patrick just tugged Jonny’s arm tighter around him and left it at that. 

He brought it though, after that. Four point night, one goal, three assists, dragging the team onto his back and carrying them. He thought it would make him feel better, and while he was feeling a certain unmistakable triumph, mostly it just felt hollow. 

He was silent on the drive back to Jonny’s house that night, forehead leaned against the window, waiting for the moment when it would click in his brain and he could start to feel good about it. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he said to Jonny as he hung his jacket up in the coat closet. He caught sight of himself in the hallway mirror—expression drawn and tired—and had to sigh. Jonny came up behind him, meeting his eyes in the mirror. When Patrick leaned back against him, he slid his arms around Patrick’s hips, dropping his chin to his shoulder. 

“You’ve gotta do it for yourself,” Jonny said, with a gaze so direct that it made Patrick drop his eyes. “Not because you’re trying to prove them all wrong.”

Patrick chuckled weakly. It wasn’t worth mentioning that he wasn’t sure he knew how. 

“Hey.” Jonny ran his nose along Patrick’s neck before pressing a soft open-mouthed kiss behind his ear. “Do you wanna?” he asked, sliding his palm down to cup Patrick’s dick through his suit trousers. He hefted the weight of it in his palm, humming approvingly when it started to thicken up. 

Patrick bit down on his lip, watching Jonny’s fingers mold around him. He’d been anything but aroused at that point, but he also hated the way everything looked inside his head right now. 

“I know you’re not 100% right now,” Jonny went on, pressing another kiss to the side of his jaw. 

He finally turned in Jonny’s arms and desperately pressed their mouths together, fists tight in Jonny’s shirt. Jonny pulled his head away after a moment, laughing quietly. 

“Couldn’t wait to spit out your gum, huh?” he asked, parting his lips to reveal the spearmint gum Kaner had been chewing on his tongue. Jonny pushed it between his teeth with the tip of his tongue and then popped a quick bubble with it. 

“Just—I want to feel better,” Patrick said helplessly, completely unrelated. 

Jonny rubbed a reassuring circle at the small of his back, his expression open and so kind it fucking hurt. “I know.” 

“Will you?” Patrick asked, meaning ‘will you fuck me’ but struggling around the words. 

Jonny read him loud and clear though. He popped Patrick’s gum again, before bending his head to brush their noses together. “Yeah,” he said. 

Patrick began to think he’d made a terrible mistake though, once Jonny slid the first finger inside him. It didn’t hurt at all. Jonny had kissed him and touched him for so long Patrick had practically melted into the bed, and then he’d poured enough lube on his fingers to cover a slip n slide. Patrick had expected pain. What he hadn’t expected was to merely feel sort of not great, like when you were getting a crappy massage from somebody who didn’t know what they were doing. 

“You wanna stop?” Jonny asked, concerned by Patrick’s knit brows and downturned mouth. He was leaning over him, hand between Patrick’s spread thighs, middle and index finger sunk inside him. 

Patrick sighed, thumping his head back onto the pillows. “Nah, I just expected this to—I thought I’d get more out of this.” 

Jonny hummed moving down between Patrick’s legs. “Hold on there, cowboy,” he said, and then changed the angle of his wrist, driving in a little deeper, long fingers finally sliding across something good inside. 

“Jesus!” Patrick’s hips jerked up off the bed. “Why didn’t you do that from the beginning?” 

“I didn’t want to do it all at once,” Jonny says, brushing his mouth over Patrick’s chest, tongue flicking out lazily across his skin like he couldn’t stop himself from taking a taste. “It’s intense—at least it is for me.” 

“Y-you’ve done this before,” Patrick stuttered out, flexing back into the press of Jonny’s two fingers. Even though he knew he sounded unnecessarily jealous, he couldn’t stop himself from demanding, “With who?” 

“Myself,” Jonny replied, pressing his thumb to his perineum, rubbing his prostate so good while Patrick pictured that—Jonny fucking his own fingers, flushed and sweating the way he got when he was got into it. 

“What’d you—what’d you think about?” 

“Sharpy,” Jonny deadpanned. 

“You—” Patrick pushed up onto his elbows and caught a look at Jonny’s grinning face. “Fuck. You,” Patrick said with feeling. 

“Don’t ask stupid questions you already know the answer to,” Jonny replied. While Patrick digested that, he pressed in again hard enough that it pushed a bubble of precome right out of his dick. Patrick couldn’t help crying out, wrist flying involuntarily to his mouth, teeth sunk down into the knob of bone. 

He dropped his head back to the pillows as Jonny kissed his inner thigh and kept going, his ring finger slowly forcing its way inside. Patrick started to feel an orgasm on the horizon, and he was torn between wanting to chase that feeling, pinned on Jonny’s hand, his dick leaving shiny smears on his abs with every rough push of Jonny’s fingers, or to finish what they started. 

“Fuck, would you just—” he stopped, caught up again on those words. Jonny paused, meeting his eyes and Patrick took a great big gasping breath, feeling every one of those three fingers. “C’mon, Toews, I thought I asked you to fuck me.” 

“Yeah,” Jonny told him and Patrick was glad to hear his voice had gone rough around the edges. When he reached across the bed for the condoms in the nightstand, the rounded muscles of his ass flexing, Patrick couldn’t help but think of Jonny lying in this bed and doing the same thing to himself, thinking about Patrick’s cock while he did it. 

Jonny knee-walked up the bed, tapping Patrick’s thighs apart, and then leaning down to brace his palms on either side of Patrick’s head. 

“You ready?” Jonny asked, eyes heavy-lidded. When Patrick looked down his body, his cock was heavy in the condom. 

“Yeah,” he whispered, widening his thighs. 

His body resisted the first press, but when Jonny’s cockhead popped past his rim, it was a smooth slide. He found himself arching his ass up into it, his stomach feeling all funny as Jonny’s dick hit that perfect spot inside on the first stroke. The gasps it drove out of his throat were all kinds of embarrassing, but he couldn’t seem to stop. 

Jonny wasn’t huge, but he wasn’t little either, and Patrick’s insides clung tight to him. When Jonny drew out, Patrick reached down between them with a shaking hand. He felt his body take Jonny back inside inch by inch, his fingertips sliding slippery on his own rim. 

"Holy god," he breathed, sheened with sweat, unable to believe the sight of the cock he was impaled on.

"You good?" Jonny asked, stilling, his expression tense. 

Patrick squirmed, watching Jonny’s eyes widen as he tried to shimmy even further down onto Jonny's cock. 

“You like that?” Jonny asked, cupping his jaw. Patrick fisted his hands in the sheets, sensation fizzing up and down his spine. 

“Not gonna break, bud,” he said a little snottily. 

Jonny let out a slow breath and shifted on his knees. 

“So high-maintenance,” he said, shaking his head. “Should have known.” 

Patrick was about to protest when Jonny grabbed his thighs, pulling out slowly, only to shove back in again with more force. It felt a bit like taking a hill too fast, that stomach dropping out feeling from the descent. Patrick shuddered, lips opening and closing soundlessly. Over and over, that feeling inside, as Jonny fucked him down into the mattress. There was barely enough space to draw breath. 

Jonny sat back further on his heels and got his hand on Patrick’s cock. 

"No no no no no," Patrick quickly protested, reaching down because it was too much and he wanted this to last. His fumbling grasp inadvertently closed Jonny’s hand around him tighter and Patrick felt like he’d been tazed. Between the combined pressure of their hands and the hot shove of Jonny’s dick inside, Patrick’s body had hit its limit. He came, muscles strung taut, toes pointed, shuddering so hard around Jonny's cock that Jonny had to still against him. It rolled through him more powerful and consuming than anything he’d felt in a while. 

His pounding heartbeat began to steady as the running jets of his spunk dripped down his abs, like Jonny fucked out all he had. The horrible hollow ache inside him had finally begun to ease. Jonny was still buried deep, his head bent. Patrick squeezed reflexively around him, and he all but whimpered. Patrick looked up at him, Jonny’s strong proud body, his bowed head. There were things there on the tip of his tongue, his mouth filling up with spit as he held them back. They’d crossed a lot of ground, but Patrick still wanted to hold on to some parts of himself, like how much he wanted Jonny's cock. Even now, when he was all tightened up, he still wanted Jonny thrust in deep. He was such a goner, a total fucking sap, but it felt better to have Jonny this far inside him. 

Jonny didn’t move. He was so good, always so good for Patrick. He wanted Patrick to be happy, wanted it so much that Patrick knew it physically hurt him sometimes to see Patrick twisted up in knots. Patrick didn’t know how to reward that unconditional support, didn’t know if what he had in him was enough, but god he loved him, and he wanted to have this moment for a little longer. 

Patrick took a breath, and then said, voice coming out hoarse like he’d been shouting, “Keep going.” 

Jonny’s body shook, like he was struggling under too heavy a weight, but he finally lifted his head and nodded. He was so red and flushed Patrick fancied he could feel the heat coming off his skin. Finally, finally, he started to move again, getting his thighs under Patrick’s ass, tilting him up and open. 

Patrick nearly swallowed his tongue as Jonny pounded into him. Angled like this, he was hitting Patrick’s prostate on every stroke and he was so sensitive now that it very nearly came close to pain. 

"Fffff..." was all Patrick managed, gulping in long swallows of air. Now Patrick was whimpering, digging his head back into the pillow, white sparks shot across his eyelids every time Jonny thrust back in. 

Jonny was quiet beyond his labored breathing, but his strokes sped up, getting choppy and short. When he got close, he folded Patrick's legs back towards his chest, so that he was even more obscenely spread open, like Jonny was trying to get his greedy hole swallowing Jonny’s cock over and over ready for the camera. Patrick could barely keep his eyes open against the sight of his own heavy balls and thick cock bouncing obscenely in time with Jonny’s every stroke. 

Patrick reached for him, needing something to hold onto, and Jonny bent easily enough, tongue thrusting into Patrick’s mouth in the same rhythm of his hips, forcing Patrick’s mouth wider. But soon all he could do was breathe wetly into Patrick’s mouth. 

“I’m gonna—” Jonny said and reached back down between them again, this time bypassing Patrick’s cock to slide back behind his balls, pushing down on that same spot on his perineum. Shocked, Patrick tore his mouth away in time to see his cock pulse out more fluid, watched it forced out by Jonny’s cockhead and the pressure of his fingers. 

“Oh, my god,” Patrick said, squeezing down, helpless, around Jonny’s cock.

“That’s it,” Jonny rasped against his ear, one more stroke and he was coming, thrust up so hard Patrick thought he’d feel it in his throat. 

It took a long time to come down, lying there sprawled all over each other, and when Jonny pulled back, it hurt. 

“Sorry, sorry, baby,” Jonny said, brushing kisses over Patrick’s eyelids and cheeks, holding the condom onto his cock as he withdrew the last few inches, Patrick unable to hold back a choked moan. 

Patrick took a deep breath, taking stock. His ass was sore and his thighs burned, but for the first time in days he felt solidly good. He stretched and yawned, making a small noise of contentedness. Maybe next time he wouldn’t push himself so far, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. 

“Apparently I just need to fuck you back into a good mood,” Jonny joked, climbing back into bed after he washed his hands and disposed the condom. 

“Maybe you should ride me into a good mood,” Patrick replied sleepily back, barely able to keep his eyes open.

“Well, if you ask real nice,” Jonny replied. Patrick snorted, but snuggled in closer to Jonny, tucking his head under his chin. Jonny softly drew his hand up and down Patrick’s back, tracing aimless designs. 

“I love you,” Jonny said when he thought Patrick was asleep. Patrick smiled against his throat. He was so fucking lucky.

■

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://simoneclouseau.tumblr.com/) if you want to chat


End file.
